


Oha Asa Says

by Yrindor



Series: The Doctor and the Hawk [9]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi Masaomi's A+ Parenting, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Angst, Awkward Midorima, Backstory, Doctor Midorima Shintarou, Drabble, Festivals, Firefighter Kagami Taiga, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Med Student Midorima Shintarou, Oha Asa, Priest Midorima, Prompt Fic, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yrindor/pseuds/Yrindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of drabbles all inspired in some way by the day's Oha Asa horoscope.</p><p>Chapters 2,4, and 8 are not part of the Doctor and the Hawk world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9/9/2015 Cancer: basketball, green

When Takao bounced into his classroom (before the bell for once), the first thing he noticed was the rather conspicuous absence of a lucky item on a certain green-haired teammate's desk. The second thing he noticed was the owner of said desk sitting uncharacteristically hunched over and looking abjectly miserable.

"Shin-chan?" he asked uncertainly.

When that received no response, he poked Midorima in the shoulder. Said tactic was usually a surefire way to get the tsundere's attention. Instead of his normal acerbic comments though, Midorima just gave Takao a half-hearted glare before returning to staring dejectedly at his desk. 

"Umm, Shin-chan, what's wrong?" Takao asked, still poking his teammate.

Rather than respond, Midorima handed his phone to Takao. Onscreen was the day's Oha Asa horoscope. Takao read through it, and then doubled over laughing when he reached what was most certainly the cause of Shin-chan's current predicament.

"Shin-chan…," he began when he finally caught his breath.

"Don't. Say. It," Midorima hissed.

"…the only thing that can make you lucky is you!"

Midorima hissed again and snatched his phone back from Takao before curling himself into an even tighter ball until only the top of his head was visible.

Takao knew he wasn't supposed to tease his teammate, but it was just too easy, and Shin-chan's ears did turn such an interesting shade of red.


	2. 9/10/2015 Cancer: hymn, silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not part of the Doctor and the Hawk storyline.

Takao was never able to explain what compelled him to enter the church that day. He had ended up on the largely deserted street by accident when he missed a turn on his way back to his hostel. Not being a particularly religious person himself, he would probably have missed the church entirely if it weren't for the sudden urge he felt to enter the open door beside him, almost as if he were being guided by some invisible force.

The moment he stepped across the threshold, the sound from the street ceased as if cut off by an invisible barrier, and he had to look back out the door at the street he had just left to reassure himself he had not crossed into another world by mistake.

When he turned back, he started. A man he had not noticed at first stood with his back to the door, facing the large marble altar at the front of the church. He wore elaborate robes of white and silver, and he was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun that streamed down from the high windows. It would have looked like something out of a book if it weren't for the slightly unkempt green hair on the man's head. Takao had read enough fantasy novels to know that the man in ornate robes was supposed to have white hair, or at the very least, hair that glowed like jewels in the sunlight. The hair of the man in front of him did no such thing; it was honestly a bit incongruous and jarring, and Takao took comfort in that as evidence that he had not accidentally strayed into a dream.

The priest, or at least Takao assumed the man must be a priest, stood silent and unmoving before the altar. The moment stretched out until Takao thought he could stand it no longer, but before he could decide whether to draw nearer or to leave, he heard the haunting sound of an organ. It was so faint at first that he thought it was a trick of his mind caused by the overly silent and still space, but then the priest began to sing. His quiet voice resonated through the empty church, and though Takao didn't understand most of the words of the hymn, he could feel their meaning nonetheless. He heard the sounds of hope and of sorrow, of a long journey finally coming to an end, and of a new beginning, and as the priest sang, Takao thought he heard weariness in his voice.

When the last notes faded, the priest turned and walked to a doorway behind the altar, pausing to run a gloved hand over the keys of the organ and letting a haunting chord echo in the empty space.

Takao remained frozen by the spell of the music until the last of the sound finally faded away. He had half a mind to follow the priest, but he found himself pulled in the other direction, back out the door and onto the deserted street, where he backtracked until he returned to the main road and eventually found his hostel.

The next day, unable to forget the priest's haunting voice, Takao tried to retrace his steps. When he turned down the side street though, he found only the crumbling ruins of a church deserted long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hymn Midorima is singing here is ["O Love That Will Not Let Me Go"](http://www.funeralhelper.org/o-love-that-will-not-let-me-go-george-matheson.html). [This arrangement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiZ9xXoZ1Mk) is the closest to how he sounds while he is singing.


	3. 9/12/2015 Cancer: Nattō

Takao returned from his morning run to find Midorima digging through the fridge and looking irritated. That in and of itself was unusual, since his Shin-chan was nothing if not a stickler for organization, and everything in the fridge was sorted by type and clearly labelled and dated. Takao was fairly certain he could find anything in the fridge with his eyes closed if he wanted to, and he suspected Midorima did just that on occasion when he came home after especially long shifts at the hospital.

"Umm, Shin-chan?" Takao asked hesitantly, hoping he wasn't about to discover that some of his leftovers had fallen unnoticed behind a shelf again. He had only ever done that once, all the way back in their first year of college, when they had only been living together for a couple of months. The hours he spent scrubbing the semi-sentient, furry goo out of the hidden corners of the fridge and the days he spent listening to Midorima lecture him on the importance of a well-organized fridge and threaten to start keeping a formal inventory on the fridge door were enough to convince him to never forget something in the fridge again.

So when Midorima finally backed out of the fridge holding something as if he were afraid it would try to bite him, Takao's first reaction was to run through all of his leftovers from the past couple of weeks for anything he may have forgotten about. Then he noticed what Midorima was holding, and his thoughts crashed to an abrupt halt.

"Umm, Shin-chan? That's…"

"Nattō," Midorima said flatly, setting the package on the counter and backing away warily to rummage through one of the cabinets. "One of the most vile, disgusting, repulsive foods ever invented. I don't know how you can stand to eat it."

"That's mean, Shin-chan. I happen to like it, and if you hate it so much, why-"

"I'm borrowing it."

"What?"

"I'm borrowing it," Midorima repeated as he carefully placed the pre-packaged nattō into a storage container, which he then wrapped in plastic wrap.

"Yes, but why?"

"According to Oha Asa, today's lucky item for Cancer's is nattō, and I will do everything in my power to be prepared, even if that means spending the day in the company of a truly offensive foodstuff," Midorima said tersely as he placed the wrapped container inside a second, larger container and locked the lid in place.

Takao just sighed. He really should have learned by now that Oha Asa was usually responsible for any seemingly irrational behavior on the part of his boyfriend.

"You'll be fine," Takao said, standing on tiptoe to leave a quick kiss on Midorima's cheek as his boyfriend tucked the container into his bag with one final glare before hurrying to the door.

"Oh, and Shin-chan," Takao called after him, "you can keep the nattō; I don't want it back."

Takao noticed later that neither the nattō nor the containers it had been stored in ever made it back into the apartment.


	4. 9/25/15 Libra: bookstore, purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not part of the Doctor and the Hawk storyline.

Himuro sighed as he looked at the overflowing shelves in front of him; a customer had just called to inquire about an early illustrated copy of _Anna Karenina_. As one of their less popular and more valuable volumes, it was in the stacks piled high on top of the shelves, which of course, were too high for him to reach. In theory, they had several small stepladders sitting around the store for the rare occasion when someone wanted to search through the obscure, dusty titles piled near the ceiling, but he couldn't seem to find any of them. Or rather, he couldn't find a free one. Two of them were wedged in corners and covered with books that wouldn't fit on the shelves, and he was fairly certain the third had been repurposed to replace the broken leg of the ancient table in the back office.

He sighed again and weighed his options. The books were too high for him to reach even if he jumped, and jumping was undignified behavior for the acting manager of an antiquarian bookstore. He thought about climbing the shelves again, but the last time he had tried that, it had ended with an avalanche of dusty tomes tumbling down on his head.

He had finally resorted to trying to edge the book off of the shelf with a broom handle when a shadow suddenly loomed over him. He turned to see a giant of a purple-haired man staring down at him.

"I can help you in a minute," he said as he turned back to the shelf and continued poking at the books, inching them closer to the edge. It was a slow process, but before he could finish, a large hand reached over his head and lifted the entire pile.

"Thank you," Himuro mumbled awkwardly, wishing no one had witnessed his undignified struggle with the shelves.

The giant shrugged. "I'm hungry," he whined. "Where's your café?"

"Café? There are a couple a few blocks down the street," Himuro said, confused. It wasn't every day that someone walked in under the "Fine and Antiquarian Used Books" sign looking for a café.

"You're a bookstore," the giant said slowly, as if he were explaining the obvious. "Bookstores have cafes."

Himuro narrowly prevented himself from groaning. "Some of the large, mass-market bookstores do have cafes, yes. We, however, specialize in more refined volumes that don't take kindly to the presence of food. I'm afraid you're going to have to go elsewhere to eat."

Himuro was prepared for the other man to complain; he had enough experience telling disappointed students who wandered in that no, he did not have the most recent volume of their favorite manga to be used to complaints. What he had not expected, however, was for the man to simply sit down in the middle of cramped aisle.

"I'm hungry," he whined again, holding out an empty bag of senbei.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have any food here."

"But I'm huuungry."

Himuro resisted the urge to throw up his arms in frustration. He felt like he was dealing with a small child on the verge of a temper tantrum.

Actually, that helped, he thought. He knew how to deal with small children. "Wait here for a minute," he said as he picked his way to the back room. He knelt down in front of the ancient refrigerator and picked out the apple he had brought with his lunch. It was possibly partially frozen, since the temperature controls on the fridge never seemed to work properly, but it was still edible.

When he returned to the store, he found the man flipping through some cookbooks shelved near where he was sitting.

"Did you find something you like?" he asked. The man nodded absently, engrossed in the book. "I found an apple you can have, but you can't eat it in here. I'll leave it up at the front desk; come up there when you're done."

The man nodded again, so Himuro took the apple and went to perch on the stool behind the cash register. Fifteen minutes later, the man finally reappeared, carrying a large stack of cookbooks with him.

"Would you like all of these?" Himuro asked.

The giant nodded again, grabbing the apple and slipping it into his pocket as Himuro rung up his purchases.

Himuro slipped his business card inside the front cover of the final volume before he gave the man the bags. "Please come again," he called as the door closed behind the strange customer.


	5. 9/26/15 Cancer: tsukimi, light blue; Scorpio: dango, light blue

Midorima sat on the riverbank, listening to the sounds of the tsukimi festival going on behind him as he looked up at the full moon. He shifted to get a better view, resettling his yukata around him. The yukata, patterned with moons and rabbits on a light blue background, had been a gift from Takao, who was currently wearing its twin; the Hawk Eye had seen the set in a secondhand shop while walking home one day and couldn't resist. He had been so excited at finally having a chance to wear them that Midorima had barely put up any resistance, even if he personally found the whole idea of matching outfits a bit tacky.

The festival was incredibly crowded, as it was every year, and Midorima had been perfectly content to let Takao lead the way, which Takao had done gladly, bouncing from place to place like an excited child. They had watched some of the performances together, but after a while Midorima had sought out the relative quiet of the riverbank while Takao dove back into the crowds with the promise of bringing back food for the both of them.

As he waited, Midorima was struck with the sudden urge to write poetry for the occasion. Though he would never admit it, he had always liked the idea of moon viewings and poetry gatherings and was sometimes a bit sad that those traditions hadn't continued as strongly as some others had. There was no reason he couldn't hold his own private gathering while he waited though, he reasoned, so he began trying to compose a suitable tanka for occasion.

_Silent night, cool air_  
_the Harvest Moon's silver light_  
_piercing the clear sky_

He rubbed his taped fingers together absently as he tried to come up with a suitable continuation. Poetry of any sort had never been one of his strengths, and the multiple layers and shifts in a good tanka made them that much more difficult. He had discarded some half dozen failed lines when he was interrupted by a hand waving in front of his face.

"Shiiin-chaaan," Takao called, clearly not for the first time. Midorima looked up to see his boyfriend standing over him and silhouetted by the full moon.

_Chasing dreams of the future_  
_Takao Kazunari_

The line jumped unbidden into his head, and his first reaction was one of triumph at finally having found a successful lower phrase, but then the rest of his brain caught up, and his reaction switched to one of mortification. It was one thing to humor his boyfriend by wearing matching yukata to a festival; it was another thing entirely to compose romantic love poetry to said boyfriend, who was currently staring at him a little too intently.

"Shin-chan's blushing," Takao said, and Midorima felt his ears burn even hotter. "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Midorima mumbled. He may have had a certain weakness for classical Japanese poetry, but he wasn't about to admit that, especially not to the person who had been the subject of said bad love poetry and who would undoubtedly never let him hear the end of it if he found out.

"Shin-chan's no fun," Takao said, but that didn't stop him from flopping down next to Midorima and holding out the dango he had purchased. Midorima took all of them.

"Hey," Takao whined, leaning into Midorima's shoulder. "Some of those are mine. You get the anko ones."

Midorima laughed quietly as he handed the bunny-shaped dango back to Takao. They ate in silence, watching the stars overhead and the lights of the festival. Overall, he thought, there were far worse ways to spend an evening.


	6. 10/4/15 Cancer: correction pen, red

"Shin-chan…Shiiin-chaaan," Takao called out to his boyfriend, who had taken over the kitchen table with his textbooks, papers, articles, and just about every other studying implement imaginable. Despite Takao having called his name repeatedly, he didn’t seem to be aware there was anyone else in the room with him. Takao wasn't actually that surprised; unless he was very much mistaken, Midorima hadn't moved from the table all day.

Takao sighed. While he understood that Midorima had important exams coming up and limited free time in which to study for them, he just didn't think this much studying was healthy.

"Shin-chan," he sang again, poking the tsundere's shoulder for good measure. When even that failed to get anything more than an absent-minded grunt and a vague shooing motion in his direction, Takao frowned.

Clearly desperate times called for desperate measures.

He waited until his boyfriend put down the red pen he had been using to mark up his paper, then took it, the white-out, the highlighters, and every other writing implement he could find. As he suspected, it wasn't long before Midorima reached for one of them, then spent several seconds feeling around blindly for it before finally giving in and dragging his eyes away from the page he was reading to look for it. He blinked several times when he couldn't find it, and Takao could tell the moment he finally snapped back to a reality other than textbook pages and journal articles.

"Takao," Midorima said flatly, holding out his hand, "I need those."

Takao didn't relinquish control of the writing implements. "You need a break, Shin-chan," he said.

"I'm fine, and I need to finish these for tomorrow."

"How long have you been studying for, and when's the last time you remembered to eat?"

Midorima thought for a moment. "Breakfast, I believe."

"Shin-chan," Takao groaned, "it's past dinner time now. All the studying in the world isn't going to do you any good if you make yourself sick in the process."

"I don't get sick," Midorima said, reaching for the pens again.

"Of course you don't," Takao replied, moving them back out of Midorima's reach. "Just like you weren't sick last month when you had that horrible stuffed up nose and were barking like a seal for a week."

Midorima's mumbled response was too quiet to hear, but Takao could guess the meaning if not the actual words. "I'll make you a deal," Takao began. "I'm going to make dinner, and while I'm doing that, you're going to go sit on the couch with something that isn't a textbook, journal article, or other form of studying. Then we'll eat dinner, and I'll even be nice and say we can eat on the couch so you won't have to move our things off of the table. If you do that, then I might be convinced to return these to you after dinner," he said, showing the pens he had confiscated.

"I don't think it's much of a deal if I don't get a say in it," Midorima grumbled, but he closed his book and stood nonetheless. Takao winced in sympathy as the tsundere's back cracked loudly in protest of spending so long hunched over studying. Well, not hunched over, Takao corrected; he had never met anyone with as ramrod straight a posture as Midorima, who was incapable of slouching even if he tried.

Midorima stretched with another series of cracks, then glared at Takao one last time before settling on the couch. He had picked up a medical journal to read, Takao noticed, but since it was one of the ones he received out of interest and not actually required for a class, he decided it would have to be good enough. Sometimes he wondered how Midorima would have survived med school without him there. At the very least, there would have been far less sleeping and eating, and far too much studying.


	7. 10/10/15 Scorpio: lullaby, purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set the night after the main events of [Absolute Terror](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4724615/chapters/10795487) and indirectly references the events of that story.

There was a pattern to dinners. Himuro was in charge of the baby food, because Murasakibara didn't always understand the nutritional needs of an infant, and Himuro did most of the other cooking as well, except when Murasakibara wanted to try out a new recipe for the bakery. When it came to mealtimes though, Murasakibara was incredibly protective of feeding Takeshi, though sometimes Himuro could slip in a couple of spoonfuls when Murasakibara wasn't looking. After they finished, Murasakibara would take Takeshi to the living room to play before bed while Himuro did the dishes. Recently, washing up had also included cleaning up the aftermath of introducing a baby to solid food, which tonight meant scrubbing pureed sweet potatoes off of the floor from when Takeshi had expressed his sudden dislike of the vegetable by knocking his bowl to the floor.

When the kitchen was finally back to something approaching cleanliness, Himuro went in search of Murasakibara and Takeshi and was surprised to find them in bed rather than in the living room. Murasakibara was too terrified of accidentally crushing Takeshi in his sleep to ever share the bed with him, and Takeshi was a light enough sleeper that they usually tried to get him settled in his crib before he fell asleep, but it had been a strange enough day that Himuro chose not to say anything. Instead, he caught Murasakibara's attention and signaled that he would be back in a few minutes. They hadn't spoken of it, but he already knew he would end up spending the night in Murasakibara's apartment.

As he ran down the couple of flights of stairs to get to his own apartment, he remembered yet again that he kept meaning to leave a couple of changes of clothes with Murasakibara. He always seemed to remember in the middle of doing something else though, so he still hadn't gotten around to it. Luckily, living in the same building meant it was easy enough for him to run back and grab things when he needed them.

Before he went back upstairs, he left a quick message for Kagami. He knew Kagami was decompressing with Aomine, so he didn't expect his call to be answered, but he wanted to check in nonetheless. He assumed he'd hear back from Kagami sometime the next day.

He had only been gone for a few minutes, but when he returned, he found Murasakibara singing off-key lullabies to Takeshi, who was babbling happily as he frequently did before falling asleep. Himuro stood in the doorway watching them, then smiled when he recognized the song. It was one of the lullabies he had learned when he was living in the US, and Murasakibara had apparently picked it up from hearing him sing to Takeshi. Or, at least roughly picked it up. He didn't seem to know most of the words, and was doing some creative substitutions, but the gist of it was there.

Himuro started to sing along softly. It wasn't long before Takeshi fell silent, and not long after that, Himuro realized that he was the only one singing. Murasakibara had fallen asleep as well, with Takeshi lying on his chest.

Himuro tiptoed across the room and picked up Takeshi carefully, letting out a silent sigh of relief when the baby didn't so much as stir.

"Muro-chin?" Murasakibara mumbled sleepily, tugging absently on Himuro's sleeve.

"I'm just putting Takeshi to bed, Atsushi. I'll be right back," Himuro promised. He quickly settled Takeshi into his crib, then changed into his own pajamas and climbed back into bed with Murasakibara, curling into his side. Even though it was a king-sized bed, it was a bit of tight squeeze with Murasakibara's size and tendency to sprawl. There was a reason that Himuro tended to sleep on the couch on the nights he spent in Murasakibara's apartment (they had been talking about getting a spare futon for years, but somehow it still hadn't happened). Sleeping in bed together frequently ended with Murasakibara attaching himself to Himuro like an oversized sloth, which was perfectly fine except for the occasions where Murasakibara would somehow shift and end up on top of him. After the day though, Himuro was willing to risk being squashed if that was the price of being close to Murasakibara. Neither he nor Murasakibara had been directly involved in the events of the day, but they were both still shaken up by them.

Murasakibara shifted suddenly and muttered something incomprehensible, and Himuro responded by quietly humming a few more lines of the lullaby he had been singing earlier. It wasn't long before his boyfriend settled back down, curling around Himuro as if he were a safety blanket.


	8. 10/14/15 Scorpio: ring, silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Offscreen major character death.
> 
> This chapter is not part of the Doctor and the Hawk world.

Himuro knelt in front of the small altar in his apartment. There was a single portrait sitting to one side of it. Not the grandparents, or even the parents, one may have expected, but someone who never should have been there.

Taiga.

He clenched his fist around the silver ring that still hung on a chain around his neck. It was no longer part of a pair; its other half had been lost in the fire that had claimed Taiga's life.

That awful day had started like any other, and Himuro hadn't thought anything of it as he and Kagami had exchanged their standard morning greetings. He hadn't thought anything of it until one of Kagami's friends and coworkers from the station had shown up at his door that night, and somewhere in the middle of the talk of backdrafts, and accelerants, and flashover, Himuro had finally understood what the man was trying to say.

Taiga wouldn't be coming home.

He was dead. Killed trying to a control a fire that had been intentionally set.

They never found the arsonist.

Days had stretched into weeks, weeks to months, and somehow Himuro had slipped back into some semblance of normal life. But even as he lost himself in the daily flow of faceless commuters on the subway, he knew things would never be the same again.

He still wore his ring on its chain around his neck, but it hung heavily now. One ring for all of their memories, promises, and dreams. One ring for everything that had been and everything that never could be.


	9. 10/15/15 Sagittarius: pressed flowers, beige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Akashi's first year of middle school before he takes over the captaincy from Nijimura.

At Nijimura's request, Akashi had stayed late after basketball practice, and by the time he finally made it home the house was empty. The servants had already left for the day, and his father was out at a business dinner like usual and wouldn't return for hours.

Akashi reheated the dinner the servants had left for him and ate it at their small table in the kitchen. His father wouldn't approve of his eating in the kitchen like a commoner, but he had never liked the formal dining room, and if he dropped so much as a single crumb in there, his father would inevitably find it the next morning and declare his manners worse than those of a pig.

He missed the days when his mother would make dinner for them, and take it outside when the weather was nice, or eat sitting at the coffee table in the living room. In the years since she had passed away, the warmth and spontaneity she brought to the house had been replaced by his father's rigid formalism.

After he finished eating, Akashi stacked his dishes neatly in the sink for the servants to wash the next morning. Then he went upstairs, sat down at the antique desk that was still uncomfortably large for him, and began his homework.

Exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later, he finished and neatly filed his papers. He had fifteen minutes until he was scheduled to start his violin practice, so after double-checking the clock one last time, he crept over to his closet and quietly pulled out a manila folder he had hidden in the bottommost drawer.

Inside was a single photograph and a folded sheet of paper protecting several dried flowers. Akashi ran his fingers lightly over the papery petals. The flowers had been a project his mother had started with him just before she passed away. They had planned on using them to make cards, but she had fallen ill before they were ready. After her death, Akashi had snuck into her room one night when no one was home and taken the flowers out of the heavy books they had been drying in before anyone could find them. While he was in there, he had seen one of his elementary school projects in the piles of paper his father had set aside to be discarded. It was about his family and had everyone's photographs alongside his descriptions written in neat hiragana. He had quietly removed his mother's picture, hoping no one would notice its absence.

They were both things he knew he shouldn't have. The mourning period for his mother had ended, and life had to move on, or so his father had told him. Emotions never turned a profit. His father drilled that into him for as long as he could remember, and Akashi knew he would disapprove if he could see what Akashi looked at now.

It wasn't long before the guilt became too strong, and Akashi carefully reassembled the folder and slipped it back in the bottom of the drawer. Only a fraction of the allotted fifteen minutes had passed, but he moved on anyway, carefully taking his violin out of its case and looking over the complicated piece his teacher had recently assigned him. He practiced dutifully for exactly forty-five minutes, and by the end he could make it through most of the piece slowly with no major technical errors. His teacher had always commended his technical precision, or at least as much as anyone hired by Akashi Masaomi ever commended anyone, but Akashi had overheard enough of the curt conversations between his teacher and his father to know that teacher felt his playing was overly stiff and dead. And he'd heard his father forbid his teacher from mentioning that under threat of dismissal. Technical excellence was a marketable skill, emotion was not.

He was about to put his violin back in its case when he paused and checked the time once more. His father wouldn't be back for several hours at least, so he quietly crept downstairs to where his mother's portrait sat on their household altar.

The carefully maintained altar, with fresh flowers and neatly arranged portraits, gave the impression of a devoted husband and son, but Akashi harbored no such illusions. He knew it was the servants who maintained the altar, and his father never set foot in the room except at the times ritual or tradition demanded it.

Kneeling on the tatami in front of the altar, Akashi picked up his violin and began to play a song his mother had liked. It was one of the first pieces he had learned, and she had been so proud of him when he played it in his first performance. It was easy for him now, and his teacher would scold him for wasting practice time on such frivolities, but he played anyway.

When the echoes of the last notes died away, he quietly slid the door of the room closed behind him and tiptoed back up the stairs, hiding any sign of his emotional lapses. He was an Akashi. And as an Akashi, he should have known better than to waste time on such vague, powerless things.

He had time left before bed, so he settled down at his desk to read the articles his father had left for him from various newspapers and business journals. At exactly ten o'clock, he changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed. The silence of the empty house echoed around him in the darkness, and sleep was slow to come.


	10. 10/25/15 Cancer: hot milk, red

The moment Midorima walked in the door, Takao knew something was horribly wrong. For starters, the only response he received to his shouted greeting was an overly stiff "Good evening, Takao," and when he came out of the kitchen to follow that with a bit of light teasing, he was met with silence. Takao was used to his boyfriend's prickles, but this was different. His teasing should have gotten a glare and a half-hearted insult in response. Instead, he was reminded of the Midorima he had first met before he had managed to work his way through the tsundere's shell.

"Shin-chan?" he asked hesitantly.

Midorima didn't look up from his flash cards. "Compartment syndrome," he read. "Increase in intracompartmental pressure due to fluid buildup or inflammation; signs include severe pain and parasthesias, not uncommon in cases of closed lower leg fractures, requires immediate surgical evaluation," he muttered to himself.

"Shin-chan," Takao repeated slightly more loudly.

"Not now, Takao. I have an important practicum coming up, and I need to study," Midorima said, not looking up from his notes. "Cholinergic toxidrome. Symptoms SLUDGE: Salivation, Lacrimation, Urination, Diarrhea, Gastrointestinal distress, and Emesis; if carbamate or organophosphate exposure is suspected, follow appropriate decontamination and protection protocols."

Takao gently covered Midorima's note cards and pushed them aside. Whatever was going on, it wasn't Midorima's normal med school-related stress. "Hey, Shin-chan," he said yet again, and when Midorima finally looked up at him, he noticed that his pupils were completely dilated. Clearly things were worse than he had thought.

"Here. Come sit down on the couch," Takao said, taking Midorima's ice-cold, clammy hand in his own and guiding him across the room. It wasn't until he had Midorima mostly settled that the wrongness of that set in.

Midorima's fingers weren't supposed to be clammy.

He looked down. Midorima's fingers weren't taped.

To most people, that may have seemed like a minor thing, but Takao knew Midorima and his rituals. It didn't matter when or where it was, he always taped his fingers.

Takao ran his fingers gently along Midorima's. "Shin-chan?" he asked, tapping one of Midorima's fingers gently.

"It didn't matter. I tape them so that they're always in the best condition possible, but it still wasn't enough. I did everything in the books, followed all of the steps exactly and he still died."

"'Man proposes; God disposes.' That's what you always say, isn't it, Shin-chan? Do everything you can to prepare, and then fate takes it from there. There's nothing you can do when fate decides it has other plans."

"This was my first time." Midorima's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Your first time what?"

"The first time one of my patients died in front of me." Midorima's said, his voice cracking.

"Shin-chan" Takao said quietly, at a loss for words. "I'm sure you did everything you could, but sometimes that's not enough; this had to happen eventually." Takao took the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around Midorima's shoulders. "Stay here. I'll warm up some milk for you."

Takao waited until he was certain Midorima had heard, then went into the kitchen and set some milk warming on the stove. He supposed he could have used the microwave, but somehow it didn't feel appropriate to the situation.

While the milk was heating, he took a spare roll of tape from the bathroom and knelt on the floor by the sofa, taking hold of Midorima's hand. Midorima didn't look up from the ball he had curled himself into, but he didn't resist either, so Takao began slowly taping his fingers. He worked slowly and methodically, murmuring the entire time about what Midorima was to him. Loyal, and perfectionistic to a fault, precise, and selfish, kind, and prickly. Everything that made Shin-chan the tsundere he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

As he finished each finger, Takao gently kissed it before moving on. By the time he finished wrapping the last finger, Midorima had uncurled enough to look at Takao over his folded arms.

Takao looked Midorima in the eye as he gently pressed one final kiss to the back of Midorima's hand. "You're embarrassing," Midorima said, his ears turning bright red.

"I know, Shin-chan," Takao replied unapologetically, "but you knew that when you chose me." He stood and retrieved the hot milk from the kitchen, pouring it into Midorima's favorite mug.

When he returned to the living room, Midorima had uncurled completely and looked more like his normal self. Takao handed him the mug and curled up against his side.

"Feeling better, Shin-chan?"

Midorima nodded as he took the mug. "Everyone says there's no way to fully prepare for losing a patient for the first time, but somehow, with how much we've talked about it in clinical classes and on our rotations, I thought it would be easier. They were all right though, you can talk about it as much as you like, but there's no way to describe what that moment is actually like."

Takao curled in closer to Midorima's side, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while. When Midorima's mug was empty, Takao took it back from him. "Will you be okay?" he asked.

"I can deal," Midorima replied, and Takao stood, kissing Midorima on the forehead.

"Stay here then. I'll bring dinner out when it's ready," he said as he returned to the kitchen. He put the half-prepared ingredients for oden back in the fridge and pulled out azuki beans and sugar in their place. Dinner plans be damned, he was making shiruko.


	11. 11/3/15 Sagittarius: parking lot, black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a couple of weeks after the events of [Absolute Terror](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4724615/chapters/10795487).

At exactly 5:45 pm, Akashi checked one last time that his suit was in order, took a deep breath, and knocked twice on Akashi Masaomi's office door. He waited for the standard gruff acknowledgement before entering to stand in front of his father's imposing desk.

"Father," he said, "I've been thinking about the incident at the Tokyo office a couple of weeks ago, and I've decided to leave the company."

"You're running away?" his father's voice dripped with contempt. "An Akashi never runs away; I thought I raised you better than that."

"I'm not running away. I've decided this isn't the best place for me and what I want from my life. Fear has nothing to do with it. I have my formal resignation for you," Akashi said, holding out the carefully lettered envelope.

Masaomi made no move to take it. "You are an Akashi," he said sternly. "As an Akashi, your duty is to uphold the Akashi family honor and the proud tradition of the Akashi Corporation. Such selfish frivolities are a disgrace to the family name."

"I may be an Akashi, but I'm my own person too, not just a nameless cog in a machine. I tried to be that for years, but I'm not willing to sacrifice myself any longer."

"To be an Akashi, one must value the family name. Anyone who sacrifices the family for their own gain is not an Akashi. Do I make myself clear, Seijūrō?"

"I understand, Father," Akashi said calmly, not looking away from Masaomi's cold stare.

"And what do you propose to do with this sudden idealism? If you leave this company, no one else will hire you, and you can't live off of vague ideals."

"I'm going into civil service, emergency management specifically. Somewhere where I can actually do some good," Akashi snapped, then immediately regretted his loss of control.

"Civil service?" Masaomi repeated slowly, a vein pulsing dangerously over his eye. "We Akashi do not mingle with such peons. Or have you forgotten that we are above such base commoners. I won't stand for it."

"It's not your decision, Father."

"I won't allow it. No son of mine, no Akashi, will debase himself to take such a position; it would disgrace the family name. Do you understand Seijūrō"

"I understand. I've made my decision, and I'll accept the consequences."

"Two weeks, Seijūrō," Masaomi said finally. "Give me your final answer in two weeks, no sooner, no later. I don't want to hear another word of this until then, understood?"

"Yes, Father," Akashi said, already turning towards the door in response to the clear dismissal in his father's tone.

Two weeks. He just had to make it through another two weeks and he would finally be free. It would be two weeks of subtle manipulation and threats from his father, but in his mind, he had already burned that bridge. He could last two weeks.

He smiled apologetically at his father's secretary as he left. It was well past the time she was scheduled to leave, but she would never dare leave before her employer did. Akashi hoped she would forgive him for scheduling such a late meeting; he made a mental note to send her flowers as an apology.

He strode confidently out of the building as if nothing had happened, but when he was halfway across the parking lot, he stopped. It was late enough that the lot was nearly deserted, the overhead lights casting even pools of light on the asphalt.

He had held his ground during the meeting and not let his father rattle him, but now that he was alone in the parking lot, he give himself a minute to let the nerves hit. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of a lamppost as he shook. People said that Akashi Seijūrō never flinched. They were wrong. He just never let anyone see him falter.

He didn't let himself stay there for long though, standing in the weak pool of light cast by the light. After barely a minute, he pulled himself together, brushed an invisible speck of dust from his suit, and continued his walk back to the subway as if nothing had happened. There was a difference between acknowledging fear and letting it take control. He would do the former, but not the latter; he had learned his lesson.


	12. 11/7/15 Cancer: high-quality green tea, silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two different meeting over tea one year apart. If they were both rituals, why did they feel so different?

"This is the strategy I thought we could use in our next match," Akashi said, sliding a sheet of paper written in his painfully precise hand over to Midorima.

They were sitting on opposite sides of a table in Akashi's main living room. Midorima, who had rushed over on the subway as soon as practice ended, was still wearing his school uniform, but Akashi, who had recently begun taking the car his father sent for him, had changed, trading his school jacket and blue shirt for a starched white shirt, grey vest, and pressed black slacks. Akashi was the only person Midorima knew who would dress up _more_ upon arriving home from school, but if he had had Akashi Masaomi for a father, he supposed he would have done the same. He had never met Akashi's father; he always made sure to leave long before the man arrived home in the evenings, but he had the strong sense that the man's wishes were not something to be disobeyed.

While Midorima looked over the notes, Akashi poured tea for him – black tea, served on fine china and polished silver arranged immaculately on a starched and pressed tablecloth. Midorima didn't particularly care for black tea; it was too bitter and acrid for his tastes, but with Akashi serving, he had no choice but to accept, so he murmured his thanks and sipped the tea, then quickly bit into one of the small sandwiches the servants had left in an attempt to mask the flavor.

It was a ritual; one that played out once a week when Midorima would come to Akashi's house after practice to go over observations and plans for the team. It was a new addition for the new school year, largely replacing their earlier meetings held in the club room over games of shogi. It was also a marked departure from the first time Akashi had invited him over for tea a little over a year earlier.

_"Would you join me for tea this afternoon, Midorima? I received some as a gift that deserves to be shared," Akashi had asked at lunch._

_"I'd be honored," he had replied, which was how he had found himself following Akashi home after practice that afternoon. Like every day, the driver Akashi's father sent for him was parked down the street from the school, and like every day, Akashi told him he would be returning on his own. "Father doesn't need to know," he said as usual, and the driver bowed, returned to the car, and drove away._

_It didn't take long to get to Akashi's house on the subway, and they entered together, leaving their shoes neatly in the genkan before climbing the stairs to Akashi's room._

_"Here, wear this," Akashi said, handing him a neatly folded yukata from his closet. "If tea is to be shared, it may as well be shared properly."_

_Once they were both changed, Akashi picked up a box Midorima assumed held the supplies for the tea ceremony and led him back downstairs to a room tucked away down a side hallway. "Please excuse the makeshift chaseki, but this is the only tatami room in the house," he said as he slid open the door._

_They both bowed deeply before entering, and as Midorima stepped across the threshold, he noticed the altar covered in fresh flowers at the front of the room. Akashi reached out ever so slightly to lightly run his fingertips along the edges of the petals as he passed; it was a subtle enough motion that anyone else likely would have missed it entirely, but Midorima noticed, and he filed it away for future reference._

_They knelt, and Akashi began the ritual of preparing the tea with the ease of long practice. He worked in silence, but it was a comfortable silence; the rules of the ritual defining a space inside which they could simply exist without having to worry about what to do or to say. When the tea was ready, Akashi handed the bowl to Midorima who sipped it gratefully. It was excellent tea, and excellently prepared. They sipped their tea in silence punctuated by the occasional proper remark, and far too soon, the tea was gone, the ceremony was finished, and it was time to leave the space it had created and return to the noise and bustle of life._

"Shintarō." A sharp voice cut through Midorima's reminiscing. "I asked for your thoughts on the strategy."

"I apologize, I was distracted," Midorima said, looking back at the page in front of him. "I think it's a solid strategy. Haranishi is a good team, but they lack a unified defense; we'll take advantage of that by attacking from multiple angles on our offense."

It was the same every week. There was never a flaw in Akashi's strategy, but they went through the ritual nonetheless. It had none of the warmth of the prior spring's ritual though. It was a ritual of barriers and boundaries, and even as he spoke, Midorima could feel himself slipping back behind them himself. Every carefully planned exchange, every cup of tea offered from the pot the servants had prepared built on those boundaries and strengthened them. The strict boundaries of formality that dictated what could and could not be said, what should and should not be done. Every action and every word carefully scripted, but locked into place so rigidly that nothing could flow freely in the space they supported.

And somewhere, behind all of the carefully constructed walls, was the Akashi he had known. The Akashi who was slipping farther and farther from his reach with each new wall. For a brief moment, he was seized with the sudden urge to try to reach that Akashi, but it was short-lived. That wasn't why he was here; he was here to give his opinions on the newest strategy to bring their team to victory. Nothing more, nothing less. And in response to that, he felt himself putting up walls of his own. If objective observation was what Akashi wanted, then that was what he would give, for as long as Akashi would take it.

He served Akashi through his precision and his intellect; everything else was walled off as irrelevant, and if he felt a flash of guilt at that, it was quickly sealed away as well.

"We should be well-prepared to face Haranishi," he said as he finished the last bitter dregs of his tea.

"Thank you, Shintarō. If there's nothing else for today, I'll see you tomorrow at practice," Akashi said, and when Midorima shook his head, Akashi rose and retired to his room, leaving Midorima alone to see himself out the side door.

Even though it had been several months, Midorima would never forget the humiliation he had felt the first time he had come to Akashi's house alone the first time Akashi accepted a ride from his driver. He had come to the front door, as he always had when he came over with Akashi, and the apologetic servant who answered the door had explained that the front door was reserved for the master, his most important business partners, and the young master; everyone else was to use one of the side doors. That moment had made it painfully clear; if they had ever been equals, they were no longer, but that wouldn't stop Midorima from swallowing his pride to stay at Akashi's side.


	13. 11/12/15 Scorpio: a person born under Cancer, pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao has never been one for stage fright, but for his debut in the Shuutoku drama club’s play at the school culture festival, he needs a bit of extra luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://36.media.tumblr.com/ae5d69049b42e5e473a9a1c12cb9cb57/tumblr_nzltesfAdI1qf8aufo4_1280.jpg) piece of official art. For Shuutoku's school festival, they perform the lovely play "Romeo and Juliet and The Frog Prince."

"Places in five minutes. Places in five minutes." The announcement echoed over the intercom in the hallway that was functioning as the backstage for Shuutoku drama club's contribution to the annual culture festival. Due to an ongoing disagreement between the two club co-presidents, the play was titled "Romeo and Juliet and The Frog Prince" and was a strange fusion of the two that was nigh on impossible to follow without referencing the extensive notes in the program.

Midorima had had the misfortune of bringing Kerosuke to school with him on the day the drama club was desperately looking for actors to fill its cast (with the two club co-presidents directing, and most of the rest of the club jumping at backstage roles to avoid being seen in what seemed poised to be an utter disaster, casting had reached a point of desperation). The co-president responsible for the fairy tale portion of the play saw him and immediately declared that he absolutely must play the Frog Prince in their upcoming production. Midorima declared that he would do no such thing, but he made the mistake of complaining about it at dinner that night, and his little sister, who was in the midst of a truly spectacular fairy tale princess phase, couldn't fathom why he would turn down such a part. While Midorima had had no trouble telling off the co-director earlier that day, he had a serious weak spot where his sister was concerned, which was why he had found himself knocking nervously on the drama club's door the following afternoon and offering himself for the role.

Of course, once Takao heard the news, which didn't take long given the school's gossip network, he declared that he couldn't possibly bear being separated from Shin-chan for so long, so he went to the drama club as well and was immediately cast in the role of Romeo, another of the lead roles.

The two of them had spent the next several weeks dodging Miyaji's pineapples that seemed to follow them around the hallways even more than usual since he still hadn't forgiven them for missing so many post-season practices _and_ he didn't have as much time as usual to practice his projectile skills during practices since the first-year pair was spending most of their afternoons suffering through drama club rehearsals.

While the individual rehearsals felt interminable, the three weeks before the show flew by, and before they knew it, they were standing backstage listening to the intercom count down the last minutes before they started. Takao, who was usually the calm counterpoint to Midorima's neuroses, was pacing in the hallway looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Takao, calm down," Midorima ordered, polishing Kerosuke one last time in preparation for its onstage debut.

"But Shin-chan, what if something goes horribly wrong?"

"Nothing's going to go wrong. You, me, and Kerosuke are the only ones onstage for most of the show, and we've practiced more than enough."

"But this is Shakespeare, isn't that supposed to be unlucky?"

"This _was_ Shakespeare, once upon a time," Midorima grumbled, "but in any case, this isn't the unlucky Shakespeare play."

"There's a different unlucky one?" Takao asked. "Which one was it again? No, wait, I know this; Coach Nakatani mentioned it in English class once. Ummm….Oh, right! Mac-"

" _Don't say it_ ," Midorima hissed urgently.

"Sorry," Takao mumbled as he went back to pacing and flipping aimlessly through his copy of the script.

"Seriously, Takao, go put your script down before you forget and bring it onstage," Midorima ordered, "Miki-sama would kill you."

"It's lucky," Takao said, hugging the thick script close to him.

"It what?"

"Oha Asa said my lucky color is pink today," Takao mumbled, turning a similar shade of pink to the cover of the script.

"You don't normally pay any attention to Oha Asa," Midorima remarked.

"I'm nervous, okay? What if I forget my lines, or what if I get distracted by the audience, or what if the set falls down on us?"

"It'll be fine, Takao."

"But what if it's not. Everyone's already expecting this to be a disaster; we could use some extra luck to counteract that."

Midorima took a deep. "Do you remember Scorpio's lucky item for today?" he asked, suddenly staring pointedly at the wall.

"Ummm, a person born under the Cancer…Shin-chan, you'd be my lucky item!?"

"Just while we're onstage," Midorima clarified quickly. "After all, it would be inconvenient to me if something were to happen to my co-lead."

"Awww, Shin-chan's too nice," Takao sang. Midorima glared at him, but just then the intercom called places and Takao gave Midorima's hand a quick squeeze before dropping his script on an empty table and rushing to the stage.

They made it to their places just in time, and the curtain opened on Romeo given an impassioned speech to Kerosuke, who sat in the middle of the pond behind Romeo's house. The attempts at Shakespearian language were downright painful, but the gist of the speech was that Romeo's love for Kerosuke was indescribable, but alas it could never be, for Romeo's family had been feuding with the frogs over ownership of the pond for generations (Midorima had pointed out that the species barrier seemed to be a larger issue, and he was fairly certain that frogs had no claim to property rights in Japan, or anywhere else for that matter, but his complaints were ignored). Juliet, the local lord's daughter who had been in love with Romeo for years, watched the entire scene from her family's mansion across the street, and the act ended with her professing her undying love for Romeo to her empty bedroom and vowing to win his love someday.

During the brief intermission between acts, Kerosuke and his rock were replaced by Midorima and an inexplicably-larger rock. When the curtain opened again, Romeo demanded to know what had happened to Kerosuke, but he was overjoyed when he learned that the prince sitting on the rock was, in fact, the Frog Prince in human form. The two exchanged long, passionate speeches, but their happiness was short-lived as Romeo's family stormed out of their house to take the pond back from the frogs once and for all.

The Frog Prince was mortally wounded in the encounter and gave the required drawn-out death speech as Romeo rushed to his side (once again, Midorima's comments on the medical impossibility of such a speech were ignored). After the Frog Prince drew his last breath, Romeo had just enough time to give an equally impassioned speech of his own as he was drowning, since his inability to swim had apparently been put on hold until after the Frog Prince's death for maximum dramatic effect. Juliet, who had been watching everything from her bedroom window, ran to the pond just as Romeo sank below the surface. She swore revenge on the frogs and began killing every one within her reach, but unbeknownst to her, many of them were poisonous, and it wasn't long before she succumbed to their toxins.

There was supposedly a deep plot somewhere in the play, but Midorima had never followed it. All he cared about while he was onstage was making it through to the end without any major disasters. There were the inevitable minor mishaps, but overall the show ran smoothly, all things considered.

As soon as the final curtain closed, Takao bounced up to give Midorima a high-five. "We did it!" he announced excitedly. "And you didn't actually die!"

"Of course I didn't," Midorima retorted. "I know better than to run into a body of water without knowing how to swim or to pick up potentially toxic animals with my bare hands."

"I'm still glad you didn't die," Takao said as they walked back to the dressing rooms.


	14. 11/15/15 Scorpio: fallen leaves, orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao likes playing in the leaves; Midorima doesn't. Himuro has no strong feelings on the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during everyone's second year of high school.

"But Shin-chan, it's too nice a day to waste studying" Takao said, jumping around excitedly. It was a pleasant fall day, cool without being too cold, and clear after several days of clouds and rain. Midorima had taken advantage of the nice weather to bring his textbooks outside and study on a bench in the park near his house. Unfortunately, it seemed Takao had had the same idea, but the Hawk Eye had no intention of studying.

"Come on, Shin-chan, don't you want to play in the leaves?" he asked, plucking one out of the air and twirling it in front of Midorima's face.

Midorima wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You don't know where those leaves have been, Takao," he remarked. "At the very least, they're probably mold-infested after the rain last week, which can be a serious health hazard, as you'd know if you'd been paying attention in biology class yesterday instead of daydreaming. And who knows what sort of insects or worse could be hiding in those piles, so no, I would not like to come play in the leaves thank you." Midorima buried his nose back in his book, holding the heavy volume up like a shield, but Takao didn't seem to get the message.

"You're too serious, Shin-chan," he said. "This is probably the last nice day of the season, and you're ignoring it to study. You can study anytime."

"I am not ignoring it; I brought my books out here to study precisely because it was a nice day," Midorima countered, though he was beginning to regret that decision. "And I can't study anytime. We have three games this week in addition to our regular practices, and I have a piano recital next month that I need to practice for as well. That doesn't leave much time for studying, especially not when several teachers have scheduled major tests or assignments for the week after next."

Midorima buried his nose back into his textbook again, and this time Takao seemed to get the message, or at the very least, he didn't say anything, and Midorima heard him running back through the leaves.

His peace was short-lived, however, as less than five minutes later he heard footsteps running up to him.

"Shin-chan! Shin-chan! Look what I found!" Takao exclaimed, thrusting a yellow leaf over the top of Midorima's book. "Doesn't it look like Kise?"

"I suppose if you squint," Midorima said absently, trying not to lose his place.

"You should keep it," Takao said, setting the leaf on the bench and moving one of Midorima's books on top of it to stop it from blowing away. "I'll get you more," he announced as he ran off again.

"That's really not necessary," Midorima started to say, but it was too late and Takao was already gone.

Midorima tried to focus on his assignments, but it was difficult when Takao interrupted him every few minutes with another leaf to add to the collection. If he really tried, he could at least see Takao's general idea with the red leaf that was apparently Kagami, or the orange leaf with suspicious black spots near one edge that was supposedly Takao, but when Takao came over exclaiming over a Murasakibara leaf, Midorima gave up even trying to understand the logic and just nodded absently as Takao added more and more leaves to the collection.

Eventually, Takao grew tired of his game and sat down next to Midorima. Midorima swore he was trying to be irritating, constantly reading over his shoulder and asking questions that he should have known himself if he had been paying proper attention in class.

Eventually, the setting sun forced them to return home. Despite all of his previous grumbling, Midorima still shoved the leaves into his bag when he thought Takao wasn't looking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Atsushi," Himuro called loudly. He was standing in the large open area in front of Yosen and trying to find his teammate, who really should not have been so easy to lose given his size.

"Atsushi, time to go back," he called again, looking at the piles of leaves dotting the space. Everyone had stayed at the end of the day to help clean the school, and his class had been assigned to raking the leaves in front of the school. Murasakibara had been with him when they started, but now he was nowhere in sight. If it weren't for Murasakibara's propensity for doing as little as possible, Himuro would have suspected him of wandering off somewhere, but that seemed like far too much work for his teammate.

He tried calling again, but he still received no response, so he went to the first large pile of leaves near him and poked at it gingerly with the end of his rake. He felt a bit foolish working his way across the yard poking at the piles, but on the tenth one, he finally hit something. Sighing, he started clearing leaves from the top of the pile and unearthed a sleeping Murasakibara.

"Atsushi, time to go," he said, shaking Murasakibara's shoulder.

"Muro-chin?" Murasakibara asked sleepily.

"Yes, it's me. Let's go."

"I'm hungry. Where is everyone?"

"They left already; you fell asleep."

Murasakibara yawned loudly. "The leaves were soft," he said by way of explanation.

"But they're not a good place to sleep. What would you have done if I didn't come looking for you?" Himuro asked as he pulled his partner up.

Murasakibara frowned. "Muro-chin doesn't forget things," he said matter-of-factly, following Himuro to the front gate.


	15. 11/17/15 Libra: childhood friend, purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murasakibara always goes to the same place after school to buy his snacks.

The bell over the door of the sweets shop jingled as the door opened. After a brief pause, the door inched slowly shut, as if someone were trying to prevent it from making a sound. A moment later, a familiar voice called from below the height of the counter. "Jiisan...Ojiisan."

The old shopkeeper leaned over from his stool behind the counter and feigned surprise. "Atsushi-kun, I didn't hear you come in!" he exclaimed. He wouldn't be able to keep up that ruse for much longer though. The boy was already nearly as tall as the high counter and growing rapidly; it wouldn't be long before he'd be visible the moment he walked in. "What can I get for you today?"

The boy dug around in his pocket and eventually fished out a 500 yen coin. "I'm hungry," he said, reaching up with a grubby fist to set the coin on the counter.

The shopkeeper smiled to himself. The boy's mother had brought him to the store for the first time as a reward after his first day of elementary school. The boy had returned on his own after school the following day, and the day after, and almost every day since for the past three years. And every day, the first thing he said was 'I'm hungry.'

"What are you in the mood for today?" the shopkeeper asked, as he did every day, and the boy shrugged, as he did every day. He was never talkative, often hard to read, and sometimes contrary for the sake of being contrary, but the shopkeeper found him strangely endearing nonetheless.

"I just got in some new senbei I think you might like. How about those?" he asked.

The boy nodded once, and the shopkeeper rose to pull them from the shelf. He rang up the purchase, then he took an umaibo from the bag he always kept for himself under the counter.

"My treat," he said, adding it to the pile as he did every day, "since you're one of my best customers. Don't tell though, or everyone'll be wanting one."

"I won't, Ojiisan," the boy said as he took his purchases from the counter, looking far too pleased with himself.

"See you tomorrow."

"Thank you," the boy said as he left, the bell over the door jingling behind him.

When he joined the basketball team in middle school, the boy stopped going to the store as frequently, but every time he did, the shopkeeper still gave him an umaibo from the bag under the counter. By the beginning of the boy's second year of middle school, he had stopped going altogether. That fall, the shopkeeper passed away, and the store closed.

The boy kept his promise though and never told anyone why umaibo were his favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set near the end of Murasakibara's third year of elementary school.


	16. 11/18/15 Sagittarius: a place where the sun shines, white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akashi visits his mother's grave one last time before he leaves for college.

_Mother, I'm leaving for Tokyo this afternoon; I'm starting the economics program at Tokyo University. I'll just be in the undergraduate program for now, but I'm hoping to continue through their graduate program as well, just as Father has always hoped. I won't be completely alone; don't worry. Midorima was accepted into Todai's medical program, so we'll both be back at the same school again._

_I'll be starting as an intern in Father's Tokyo office next week as well. I know it will make you sad to hear, but I don't think I'll have time for basketball anymore. I don't mean I'll stop playing altogether necessarily, but I doubt if I'll have time for a team anymore. I'll take care of myself though, I promise; I know that's what you'd want. I'll keep playing shogi too. You don't have to worry about me anymore; I can take care of myself._

_Though maybe that's just me trying to make myself feel better. I'm sorry, Mother, but I won't be able to come out here as frequently once I leave. I've asked some of servants to take care of your grave while I'm gone, since I know Father won't; I'll try to come back when I can too. I hope you understand._

_I brought you more flowers, all of your favorites, and all in white to match your grave when the morning sun hits it. The florist asked after you again today; I told him you still appreciate his flowers, even if you can't be there in person anymore. There's something else I was hoping I could leave with you for safekeeping. You know I've cherished it since the day you gave it to me, but it's worn out beyond a point of usefulness now, so you know Father will discard it if I leave it at home. I don't think I'll have space to bring it with me to Tokyo either though, so I was hoping you'd watch over it until I come back._

_Here, do you remember this, my first basketball? It was one of the last things you ever gave me. I'll leave it here for you to watch over; I promise I'll take it back someday._

_I have to leave now, Mother, or I'll miss my train. Don't tell Father, but I'm bringing the flowers we pressed together with me. I'll come back whenever I can, but I guess this is goodbye for now. I know you wouldn't want me to worry about you. I know you only ever wanted me to be happy, and I'm trying, I really am, but it's hard sometimes in the face of everything else. Forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for this to be quite so angsty, but apparently the plot bunnies had other ideas. The basketball is entirely their fault.


	17. 11/23/15 Cancer: oolong tea, white

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime early in Midorima's fifth year of med school.

Midorima jerked as he almost nodded off waiting for the water to boil. He had been at the hospital for over twenty hours and had finally managed to slip away for a few minutes for a much-needed break.

He prided himself on never seeming to succumb to fatigue the way some of his classmates did, but the early morning hours of an overnight shift were a struggle even for him. He shook his head in an attempt to shake off some of the fatigue and glared at the electric kettle as if that would somehow make it boil faster.

In theory, he should have taken his break several hours earlier, but with several patients needing unexpected attention and a co-worker who tripped over his own feet and sprained his ankle, his break had been delayed until the floor was less in a state of chaos.

Or at least as relatively little chaos as was possible in the pediatrics department. Midorima was only a week into his rotation, but he was already quite certain that pediatrics was not the department for him. Between the screaming children and the anxious, tearful parents, the rotation was leaving him with a permanent headache, even when he wasn't up all night on an overnight shift. He couldn't wait for the next five weeks to be over so that he could move on to a different, and hopefully more suitable, rotation.

Compared to the rest of the floor, the break room was quiet. Almost too quiet, Midorima thought. He hadn't been in pediatrics long, but one of the first lessons the nurses drilled into him was that the quiet patients were the most likely to take an unexpected turn for the worse.

In an effort to make the hospital a less scary place for the children, someone had painted the hallways in the department with brightly colored pictures, but their interior decorating aesthetic hadn't made it to the break room, which was entirely white. White walls, white table and chairs, white futon. The stark decor coupled with the unnatural silence created a sterile, uneasy atmosphere. The uncomfortable feeling was one of the reasons Midorima hadn't spent much time in the break room during his first week on rotation, but he was at a point where he needed tea if he was going to survive the rest of his shift, so he braved the glaring whiteness to make himself a well-deserved cup of tea.

It was common knowledge that the hospital tea was nearly as bad as its coffee, and the pediatrics department was one of the worst offenders when it came to the unpalatability of both. Luckily, Midorima had been warned ahead of time by one of his classmates who remembered his reliance on tea during exam weeks, so he arrived for his first day with his emergency tea supply already in his bag.

He went to dig it out, only to discover to his dismay that the container had fallen open at some point, and all of his tea was now scattered uselessly over the bottom of his bag. He looked for the backup tea he always kept in his locker, but remembered after fruitlessly searching for several minutes that he had used the last of it several days previously after an infant with seemingly infinite lung capacity had screamed at him for over half an hour, and he had retreated to the break room for a cup of tea and an aspirin in an only marginally successful attempt to stave off a migraine.

He groaned, digging through his bag one last time and wondering if he was going to be forced to drink the terrible hospital tea after all. He had just about given up hope when he found a couple of ancient tea bags tucked in a side pocket. They were oolong, which was far from his favorite, but they were tea, and caffeinated tea at that. Even as old and slightly crushed as they were, he was certain they were better than the alternative.

He poured the water over his tea, narrowly avoiding scalding himself when the kettle splashed unexpectedly. He forced himself to stay awake for the few minutes it took to steep, inhaling the steam rising from the cup and daydreaming about having a proper cup of tea back in his apartment.

As soon as it was ready, he sank down into one of the chairs around the small table. They were notoriously uncomfortable, but after being on his feet for countless hours, it felt like the most luxurious thing in the world. Unfortunately, he had barely started his tea when a nurse stuck her head in the door and dragged him back from his break to look at an unstable patient.

Midorima glared at her back as he abandoned his tea to follow her. He had a special hatred for the overnight shifts at the hospital. Not only for the normal reasons, but also because Oha Asa never announced its horoscope until sometime in the actual morning. Spending the end of his shift with no sleep and no lucky item felt like courting disaster, as his failed attempt to have a cup of tea had just illustrated. He had tried writing to the editors asking if they could announce the day's lucky items at midnight, but he had received no response, which left him with no choice but to cross his fingers, hope for the best, and hope that nothing too terrible befell him before he could make an emergency trip to acquire his lucky item the minute the horoscope came out.


	18. 11/25/15 Libra: lecture, purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Murasakibara's third year of college.

Murasakibara yawned as the lecturer droned on and on at the front of the lecture hall. He had already been sitting in a far-too-small seat for over an hour as he copied the complicated diagrams and equations from the board. He wasn't sure why he bothered; all of the examples were taken directly from the textbook currently wedged into the non-existent space at his feet.

As often happened in his physics classes, he found himself thinking about the recipes he would try over the weekend. If he timed everything properly, he could finish his problem sets and lab reports while various recipes were resting or chilling. Himuro was planning on coming over as well, which meant he would have his usual taste-tester. Himuro always said he made too much but never seemed to turn down an offer to try a bite.

When Murasakibara had started college, he'd been assured that he'd love physics once he went deeper into it. Nearly three years later, he was quite confident he still hadn't found the "spark" that everyone kept telling him about. It wasn't that he struggled with the material; on the contrary, he was consistently near the top of his class - not at the very top the way Midorima and Akashi always were - but usually in the top twenty-five.

But he hated it.

He didn't care about what was happening in the requisite hypothetical frictionless vacuum, or in an ideal circuit with no resistance. He was far more interested in whether or not he could make anko-filled croissants without collapsing the dough, or if he could make his favorite strawberry cake with a chocolate pastry cream instead. Those weren't laudable career goals though, or at least that was what every advisor who had ever spoken to him had said. So he continued listening to the lecturer drone on and on as he scrawled recipe ideas in the margins of his notes.

Two days later, Himuro asked the simple question that changed his life. They were in the kitchen of his apartment, and he was complaining about his physics assignments like usual as he waited for his dough to rise. He had just finished listing all of the reasons he hated physics when Himuro asked "then why study it?"

He stared at Himuro, confused.

"If you hate it so much, then why do you keep forcing yourself to do it?" Himuro continued. "It's clear to anyone who knows you that you love baking, and you're good at it, so why do you keep taking classes you hate that have no bearing on what you want to do with your life?"

It was the first time someone told him seriously that he didn't have to keep following the path others had laid out for him. He had always thought he'd get his physics degree, find a job in the field he didn't hate too much, and bake for himself on the side. The thought of doing what he loved as a career had never been anything other than a fantasy.

Once Himuro brought up the idea though, it didn't take him long to act on it. They talked about it more, and then he ran it past Akashi since he did value his former teammate's opinion, even if he'd never admit as much. The following week, he interviewed at several bakeries near his apartment, and they all offered him assistant positions when they tried some of his recipes. That Friday, he handed in his formal withdrawal notice to the physics department and to the university and signed up for some cooking classes being offered by the local vocational school.

He never looked back, and his only regret was that he hadn't had that realization sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles will be primarily MidoTaka-centric, but other characters/ships may appear. The chapter titles are the specific part of Oha Asa that inspired the fic. I hadn't originally planned for this to be a part of the Doctor and the Hawk series, but since most of the chapters are ending up in that timeline, I decided to move it. Any chapters that aren't part of this series will be marked in the chapter notes and in the work summary.
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are welcome and encouraged.


End file.
